Truce
by EatBreatheRead
Summary: They had a truce of sorts, both the girl and the boy. They shared an apartment for convenience only. Located in the middle of London, it was near both of their offices, and together, they could just barely afford it. But no, that did not mean that they were friends, or even liked each other for that matter. Draco/Hermione friendship, set after the war. One-shot.


**Truce by EatBreatheRead**

She had always been afraid of storms. Maybe it was the way the lightning flashed, or how the thunder roared. She didn't know. But, either way, being alone during a storm was not an option. When she was little, she would sneak into her parents' room at the first flash outside her window, and during her school years, she shared a dorm with three other girls. She had never been alone during a storm, until now.

He never liked storms either. It may have been the fact that as a child, he had always been left alone during them. When he went to his parents, they just shook their heads and told him to go go to bed. "It's nothing," they said. Those stormy nights were always spent alone, huddled under the covers, waiting for daylight to come.

They had a truce of sorts, both the girl and the boy. They shared an apartment for convenience only. Located in the middle of London, it was near both of their offices, and together, they could just barely afford it. But no, that did not mean that they were friends, or even liked each other for that matter. They had been rivals at school, and sharing an apartment didn't end that.

That truce seemed to extend to those stormy nights. He and she would retire to their respective bedrooms in the evening, but at the first boom of thunder, both would come out. She would go to the stove and begin to make hot cocoa, while he would go and light the fire in their sitting room, in hopes of driving the frigid night air away. There were no words necessary as they sat, side by side, covered in blankets and sipping their cocoa, until the sun rose.

One night, however, things changed. As she stood there, heating the milk, he entered the kitchen, wand in hand, and opened his mouth. "What-" he began, then seemed to change his mind, and closed it. But by then, the silence had already been broken. _There's no going back_, she thought to herself, so she turned to face him, and asked, softly, "What were you going to say?" If he was surprised she had spoken, he didn't show it. He met her eyes, and shook his head. "I don't know, I just feel..." he hesitated, "What exactly are we doing?" As he spoke, she silently poured the cocoa. "Well, we can't go back to silence now," she replied, voicing her earlier thoughts, "Let's talk in the sitting room."

Into the sitting room they walked, each holding a mug, and looking anywhere but at the other. Tonight was different, a fact that was emphasized yet again, when he took a seat across from her, rather than next to her, as usual. He didn't know what had possessed him to go and talk to her after so many silent nights. He didn't even know why they were living together after years of being bitter rivals. Running a hand through his pale blond hair, he looked at the woman in front of him. She was staring out the window, curly brown hair illuminated in the firelight, with an odd sort of expression on her face. Finally, she turned to face him. "I don't know what we're doing, either," she admitted, "but when we first moved in, it just felt right, and it was one of the first decisions I made for myself, after, you know, everything in the last few years."

"So you didn't move in with me because you pitied me?" he asked, surprised, "because I lost all of my money, and couldn't even afford a simple apartment?"

She looked just as surprised. "No, of course not. Even then, I knew you well enough to know that you wouldn't stand to be pitied. If anything, I thought you felt sorry for me. Or even that you were trying to apologize. Because, well, the war. Because of what had happened that night with your aunt."

"No, I didn't feel sorry for you. Maybe I should have, I don't know. I thought you had dealt with it, and didn't want any reminders of that night. If I truly felt sorry for you, I probably wouldn't even be here, because I'm sure that I remind you of that night."

"You do," she whispered, and then looked away. Still staring at the window, she added "But… not in a bad way. I mean, the way I think about you, and that night, is different now. I don't think about what happened with Bel-" she hesitated, "that woman. I think about how it was not your fault. I think about how you helped Harry, claiming not to recognize him. You helped us. And if that was all you could do, I am happy that you did it."

"Hermione," he said gently. She flinched; it was the first time he had said her name all night. "I didn't do it for you guys. I did it for me, because – because if I told them it was Harry, and I was wrong…Let's just say that I didn't want to face the consequences. I was being selfish."

Now she turned back and met his eyes. "That's okay, Draco. It's all okay. We were in a war. We were thrown in the middle of an age old battle when we should have been in _school_. For Merlin's sake, we were fighting for our lives before we were even 19!"

He nodded. "It is a frightening concept, looking back. To think, we could have died fighting that awful war. We're still recovering, you know. There are still cracks that need to be repaired, wires that need to be reconnected. The Wizarding World is still healing."

"I'd like to think that we repaired a crack tonight," she smiled faintly at him. Suddenly, what he had said registered. "Draco Malfoy," she exclaimed incredulously,"Did you just make a _muggle_ analogy?"

He frowned, "I guess I did…" Standing up, he walked over to sit next to her. "I probably picked it up from you," he said, nudging her with his shoulder.

She laughed, "Who would've thought? Draco Malfoy, former Slytherin prince, cracking muggle jokes!"

"I certainly wouldn't have thought that, at that age. But what about you? Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor, the top of the class, and not to mention the archnemesis of Draco Malfoy. Look at you now! We're sharing an apartment, we're sitting on this couch together in the middle of the night."

"It's pretty unbelievable, especially when considering the things we thought back then. Do you remember when I punched you in the face? My hand hurt afterward, but it was completely worth it."

"Of course I remember, and I completely deserved it," he admitted. "Did you know that you broke my nose that day? I had to tell Madam Pomfrey that I walked into a tree, because I couldn't tell her that _you_ punched me! It was mortifying."

"Did you really tell her that?" she shook her head. "Walking into a tree. What a great excuse."

"Hey! I couldn't think of anything better, okay?"

Their banter continued, both he and she laughing and teasing each other, catching up on many years worth of missed conversations. As the first rays of light began to shine through the windows, one could see them, lying on the couch eyes closed, with his arm around her, and with faint smiles on both faces.

It was the first time either one of them had fallen asleep peacefully on the night of a storm.


End file.
